


Partners in Crime

by FromAshesToStardust



Series: The Cracks In Our World [3]
Category: Lolitics, Political RPF, Political RPF - UK 20th-21st c.
Genre: Adoption, Adultery, Alternate Reality, Angst, Ann Summers, Blow Jobs, Bridge - Freeform, Bullying, Bus, Buttons you shouldn't press, Car Bombs, Chloroform, Comedy, Comic Relief, Confusion, Drugs, Edinburgh, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Forgiveness, Hotels, House of Commons, I'm Bad At Tagging, I'm Going to Hell, I'm Sorry, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Jealousy, Labour, Library, Lie, Lies, Lingerie, London, MI5 - Freeform, Martyrdom, Mind Control, Mystery, Mystery Character(s), Mystery Stories, Nightclub, Pentagon, Phone Calls & Telephones, Progressive Alliance, Protests, Public Blow Jobs, Reader-Insert, Reality, Runaway, Running Away, Secret Service - Freeform, Secrets, Simulation, Smut, Spanking, Step-parents, Strap-Ons, Suicide, Threesome - F/F/F, Tour Bus, Trains, Truth, US Department of defense, Vibrators, Work experience, bridges, coup, dream - Freeform, mummy kinks, the pentagon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2017-10-07
Packaged: 2018-09-11 04:13:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 17,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8953270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FromAshesToStardust/pseuds/FromAshesToStardust
Summary: Requested by @ruslanax on TumblrYou get a work experience placement at the House of Commons. The Prime Minister likes you. You dislike the Prime Minister and so does Sturgeon. What events will untangle from here?





	1. And So I Say To You

**Author's Note:**

> Y/N – Your Name  
> Y/F/N – Your Full Name  
> Y/F/C – Your Favourite Colour  
> Y/H/C – Your Hair Colour  
> Y/A – Your Age

 

You took your first step into the exquisite hall. And then a second. And then a third. The walls were lined with gold and the murky green contrasted the bright tiles on the floor. It may have been some old architecture, but to you, it was heaven.

 

You couldn't half believe that you'd managed to get work experience here! The demand must've been very high on places like the House of Commons, after all! You were about to work alongside your MP for the next two weeks, and you couldn't be more chuffed to finally get into a position of power! Well, a little power at least.

 

You stood in the centre of the hall in awe. Journalists, politicians and their aides were rushing around you like the blood rushing round your system. Faster and faster. Your breath was half taken away. The movement was so great that your Y/H/C was taken aback! Your hair stood on ends as you tried to get to grips with yourself in this moment of pleasure. But you just stood there, in the hall, dumbfounded at the majesty of this mighty arena.

 

* * *

 

 

“I'm just going out for a bit, Y/N,” your MP told you as you sat down to do some paperwork, “I'll be back in a jiffy”

 

“No problem,” you replied, eager to get your head stuck into some knowledge, “see you later!”

 

“See you too!” they beamed, closing the door behind them. You were now alone with the silence.

 

Twenty minutes in there was a strange knock at the door. The knock was timid yet bold, sharp yet hesitant. And from behind it hid a tall old woman, lost in her facade.

 

Theresa adjusted her posture and wandered in, obsessively reminding herself that she was the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom and therefore the only person who should be scared of socialising is that work experience student, but little did she know that she was very wrong indeed.

 

“Good morning, Prime Minister” you rather slyly remarked, trying to retain your high spirits. Totally thrown off course, Theresa replied, “G-Good morning to you too, Y/F/N”. You smiled, pleased that she was at least trying to make conversation with the younger generation. Theresa glanced over your shoulder and looked down at the work your MP had set you. Her eyes widened and her brow shifted as a rather confuddled expression emerged on her face.

 

“Aren't you a bit too young to be doing this sort of work?”

 

“Are you doubting my abilities?” you snapped, straightening your shoulders and flashing her a death stare.

 

“N-n-no!” she stammered, “I just thought that you wouldn't have the brains to do it, that's all!”

 

“Don't make me tell the press you said that!”. Theresa stomped her foot in frustration, adamant that that was not what she was trying to say. She honestly didn't think the education system was that good! At a loss, she sighed, resting herself up against the wall with the peeling wallpaper.

 

“You're a very clever girl, Y/N,” conceded Theresa, “I bet your parents are proud of you”

 

“Yeah...” you sighed, knowing that you wouldn't be seeing your family for another 2 weeks. But it was worth it to get some work experience under your belt!

 

“Tell me, where are you staying?”

 

“In a hotel, not too far from here”

 

“So you don't come from these parts?”

 

“Of course not!” you cried, actively battling against Theresa's assumptions.

 

“I could do with a feisty woman like you on my team” Theresa smirked, lifting her arrogant chin as she shot you 'subtle' hints.

 

“That's like asking someone to join the KKK,” you laughed, “when they're black!”

 

“Oh, my dear, you don't have a choice!”. Theresa dragged you by the hand down a few stuffy corridors and into the room where you'd left your stuff. She took out a lighter and burnt your shit right in front of your face, letting the ashes crumble at your feet. You were now glad that you'd kept your wallet, keys and your phone on you at all times.

 

“You're staying with me, dear,” Theresa ordered, leaving no room for compromises, “And you don't have a choice”.

 

* * *

 

 

For the next few days, you hung out around Theresa's Downing Street apartment after your long shifts. She fed you and made sure you were okay, keeping an eye on your every move. At times, she seemed a little too fond of you, but you had gotten used to it by day 3. Besides, it was the Prime Minister! It may have taken a bit of lightening up but you'd managed to find a friend in Theresa. You helped her and she helped you. Heck, you'd even made her consider abolishing tuition fees!

 

That night, you lay with Theresa, cuddled up in her sheets, wondering what the world would be like if everyone respected each other. It was true when you first came to the HoC you had a hatred for some of the more close-minded Tories, and you definitely had no respect for them. But when it came to Tories like Theresa, once you had a good look inside her, she was just an average person like you or me. She was open and kind. She respected the opinions of others and did her best to negotiate outcomes which would be best for the majority, not just her. Maybe we could all learn something from her, eh?

 

That Saturday, you curled up on the sofa draped in a heavy blanket, the winters' breath seeping through the poorly fitted windows. The indulgent aroma of your hot chocolate tangoed through the air as the crackling fire roared in the background, devouring the meal that you'd so generously served it. You were attentively reading a novel that Theresa recommended to you when the door creaked opened.

 

“I'm so glad you invited me over, Prime Minister,” remarked a familiar Scottish soul from the other room, “I'm very much looking forward to discussing something _other_ than politics with you”

 

“So am I,” Theresa chuckled, directing her hand towards the living room, “I'll get the bedroom prepared, in the meantime, you can force Y/N to make you some coffee, she isn't doing work experience here for nothing!”

 

“I heard that!” you cried, slightly offended. It was true that you were doing work experience at the House of Commons, but not at 10 Downing Street!

 

“Leave the lass alone, Theresa!” giggled Nicola as she made her way into the room beside you, “she's only young!”. Nicola fell down onto the sofa next to you and plonked her stuff on the coffee table.

 

“Right,” she sighed, turning to you “you heard her, make me a cup of coffee”. You couldn't ever turn down her demands (you did admire her, as well)! You hurried into the kitchen and put on the kettle, scrambling to get some mugs down from the cupboards, much to the amusement of the First Minister, who was pissing herself laughing by this point.

 

“Are you okay?” she asked, still giggling, as she got up. You nodded fearfully, but you'd turned around too quick and spilt the coffee powder down your jeans, inducing Nicola to tears. On the one hand, you felt deeply offended, but you were not sure if it was the coffee's fault or Nicola's. On the other, you felt like a comedy genius for making the woman you so strongly desired laugh hysterically. She was in fits of tears cackling on the floor, and you were immensely proud of the fuck up which was your life.

 

Nicola stumbled over to you and pulled you in for a hug, running her silky hands through your Y/H/C hair. She rested her chin on your head and sighed.

 

“Whit are we gonnae dae wi' yoo?”. At a complete loss, you shook your head.

 

“Hey,” she began, looking down at you, “do you have Twitter or something, I just think if you're a comedian in real life you'll probably be ten times funnier online!”. Nicola couldn't even keep a straight face at this point! She reached for her phone and handed it to you, the Twitter app open. You plugged in your username and handed it back to her. She glanced down and looked back up and stared deeply into your eyes.

 

“Do you have Tumblr under this username too?”

 

“Shit, she knooowwssss” a voice in your head responded. At this point, you knew you were beyond fucked. You took a massive gulp and nodded. You simply just didn't have it in you to lie to Nicola. She put down her phone and pushed you up against the counter, gently grabbing the sides of your face, and then began passionately kissing you.

 

You battled her tongue all the way back to the living room, your hands roaming freely down her back. Nicola threw you down onto the couch and continued the French kiss, desperately trying to pull off your tartan jumper. Nicola threw her overcoat over the opposite sofa, leaving you to run your hands up her red dress. Oh my was she sexy.

 

The door slammed open.

 

“Y/F/N,” Theresa growled, on the verge of kicking you out “How dare you steal _my_ date”

 

“Theresa, for fuck sake,” defended Nicola, “I started it, I will finish it”

 

“You stay away from her, Nicola,” argued Theresa, who had managed to flip sides in a matter of milliseconds, “She's barely Y/A!”. Nicola looked down at your chest, which was only now covered by a Y/F/C bra. She ran her hands around it, teasing your breasts with her cold hands. Nicola looked up again at her.

 

“I don't care”.

 

* * *

 

 

Nicola carried you into the bedroom and threw your half naked body down onto the satin sheets. She unzipped her dress to reveal a matching bra and pair of knickers, patterned in tartan. Her nude tights were held up by suspenders, and her bold makeup only re-enforced the idea that she was some sort of secret dominatrix.

 

Theresa stormed in behind her, stopping for a moment to eye up her prey, resulting in a horny Sturgeon snatching a paddle from out of her grip and whipping her thigh with it as retribution.

 

“The punishment hasn't started yet, honey” Theresa remarked, approaching Nicola for a second kiss. Nicola pulled back.

 

“I only came here for my prize,” she snickered, directing the paddle at you, “and you're not taking her from me just yet”

 

“Well, I'll have you know, Nicola, that _she_ is mine”. Theresa pushed her down against the end of the bed and tried to pry the paddle from her strong grasp, but it was no use. Nicola once again smacked her hand down with it.

 

“I'll tell you what,” affirmed Nicola, standing up and adjusting her posture, “whoever can pleasure her the greatest gets her”

 

“Well, you do think highly of yourself”. Nicola shot her a death glare.

 

“I think we already know who's won here” Theresa muttered, threateningly.

 

“I don't think we do”.

 

The couple kept bickering for a good 7 minutes whilst you just laid there, bored. You decided that if they wouldn't pleasure you, you would, and so you positioned yourself up against the headboard and slipped a few fingers down your knickers. You lovingly circled your throbbing clitoris with your cold finger tips, sending pleasurable shivers down your spine. By a further 15 minutes in to the intense bickering, you were already very close to orgasm. You let out a deep, erotic moan into the crossfire, and then your cover ceased to exist. Nicola turned around, releasing Theresa's arms from her waist.

 

“Oh, it's so oan”. Nicola leapt to the opportunity, locking her arms around your hips before Theresa even had time to react. She began frantically kissing your wet underwear and sucking at your pretty fingers.

 

“Aim gonnae fuck yoo so hard 'hat yoo'll scream into ma ear” Nicola told you as she held on to you for dear life as Theresa attempted to yank her off the bed. Eventually, Theresa realised that she'd have to find some other way to get into your pants. She carelessly untied her light blue robe to reveal her naked body. Her breasts bulged out of their confinement and greeted you with a gentle nod of appreciation. You stopped stroking Nicola's hair as soon as you saw them bounce.

 

“Theresa!” Nicola snapped, “What the fuck is wrong wi' yoo?!”

 

“This is a competition, Nicola, and I'm in it to win it”. It was only the morning and yet you knew that you were gonna have one heck of a night.

 

Theresa spanked Nicola's arse with her bare hand, forbidding her from pleasuring you any further. Enraged and yet extremely turned on, Nicola hauled Theresa towards her for a kiss, letting Theresa fall on top of her. Nicola struggled to sit back up, but when she did, she made Theresa apply the same kiss to her open thighs. She writhed and moaned, shooting a wink towards you, signalling you to come closer. And you did. She smothered her right hand in saliva and lent it to you. Desperate for desire, you inserted her fingers into your vagina, allowing her to rub your g-spot, leading you to fall back against the bed sheets, grasping ferociously at them.

 

“N-Nicola” you moaned, entranced in the intense pleasure.

 

“It's okay, sweetheart,” she struggled, trying to conceal her orgasm at the hands of a Tory, “I-I'm here for you”. She swung her left hand behind her and towards you, letting your fingers interlock with hers as you were both pushed into dreamy embrace orgasm at once.

 

Nicola fell back on the bed in a state of relief, her breathing heavy. You high-fived her as you realised that she'd won. But Theresa was having none of that. It was her house, after all. Theresa crawled up your body and started to peck at your lips. Helplessly, you complied, but being the sneaking bugger you are, you reached down to Nicola's clitoris and began rubbing.

 

“Mmm” moaned Nicola as she directed some of your fingers to wander into her pulsating vagina. Oh, how she yearned for your body in its magical entirety. Theresa, however, inevitably noticed, gently snatching your hand away from her.

 

“You really are a bad girl,” Theresa remarked as she began rubbing herself up against you, “and you're in desperate need of punishment”. Was this never going to end? Well, no. Nicola grabbed Theresa from behind, covering her mouth with a cloth doused in chloroform. And so, Theresa collapsed.

 

“You won't have to put up with this nuisance anymore,” Nicola devilishly smirked, “come on, darling, follow me”. Nicola gave you her hand, pulling you up from the scene, and threw your scattered clothes at you. You both quickly got changed and then....you ran.

 


	2. Viva La Revolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drumpf has done something unforgivable to Theresa and now Theresa hates everyone and everything. And everyone hates her back.

Darkness plagued the land as Theresa awoke in a mild daze to the agonising bleeps blaring from her sodding alarm clock on her bedside table. It was 6 am....only 6 am.....

May reluctantly rolled out from beneath her crumpled duvet and sat up to face the bedside table. Her phone was practically seizuring in front of her very eyes - but she was too numb to move. Texts and tweets from colleagues and close friends came pouring in, illuminating the room with madness.

Theresa, what the hell are you doing?!!? Why on Earth would you let Drumpf into the UK against the will of the British people? You do know about that viral petition, right?

“Oh won't you shut up” she growled as she violently slapped the phone to the floor. Theresa had had enough of people telling her what to do. Besides, she already had Brexit on her plate! Why Drumpf as well?!

She stumbled wearily into the kitchen, deeply troubled by a throbbing headache. What the hell happened to her last night? Did she get drunk? Theresa collapsed onto the kitchen counter and snatched the box of paracetamol, stuffing 2 tablets into her mouth and, like a wolf hungry for sustenance, she turned on the cold tap and lapped up every last drop of water which came her way. It splashed across the kitchen sink with droplets spilling down her naked body, crashing to the floor and puddling at her feet. But Theresa didn't care. She just grabbed a cereal bar from the cupboard, flung on some clothes from the bottom of her bed, and plodded downstairs to see what the day had in store.

 

* * *

 

 

 

  
“Look, Theresa,” Justine Greening told her, “Drumpf is discriminating against our own MPs! We need to do something more than condemning him!”

“I can't ban him from the state visit,” she replied, “our special relationship would be in tatters!”. Justine Greening scowled.

“Do you really want us having a special relationship with that man?”

“It's our only hope after Brexit!”

“What's that going to look like to other countries, May?!” she cried, “We're not Drumpf's bitches! Nobody would want to trade with us!”

“Oh shut it” she grumbled, slamming down a stack of paperwork from her booming in-tray onto her oak desk, “and get out”

“Theresa, what has happened to you?”

“I want a red, white and blue Brexit, Justine, DO YOU HEAR ME?!”

“Theresa that's not what we're talking ab-”

“SILENCE, GREENING!” May screamed, “I HAVE HAD ENOUGH OF PEOPLE TELLING ME WHAT TO DO!”

“Oh god.....what has Drumpf done to you?”. Theresa grimaced with a slight twitch in her eye.

“Out. Now.”

 

* * *

 

 

  
It was lunchtime and Theresa made her way over to the House of Commons to retrieve a light snack to keep her going through the day - the long and treacherous day...

MPs scowled at her as she stumbled through the doors, with many coming up to her to ask her about what she's doing about Drumpf...and many were at a loss. Desperate not to be noticed by any more of those plebby bastards, Theresa hid under the blanket of a crowd of tourists and scampered hastily into the canteen.

 

* * *

 

 

  
The dark morosity in the air clung to her advisors like a stench. Everyone could clearly see that she was not okay, and no one knew how they could cheer her up.

She hadn't been okay since the Drumpf visit. She hadn't been free. She could still hear his silent mutters in the shadows, mocking and taunting her from afar. They were like daggers, pressing on her back with their sharp blades which made her spine shake and muscles contract and yet she forbade to move in fear that they may penetrate and take over.

It was now 6 pm and the chants of protestors outside rung in her ears like church bells at a funeral. They were sick of her. She was sick of her. They demanded change. Everyone demanded change. And it was Theresa's fault if she didn't comply. And it was Theresa's fault if she did. It was a strange thing, this Prime Ministerial business. It left no one else to blame but herself. And so that's what Theresa May did.

 

* * *

 

 

  
You stood at the back of the crowd, hand-in-hand with the figure who whisked you away last week. She was happy and so were you. Change was now firmly in the air.

Arms were flailing in London's poisoned atmosphere, some gripping tightly onto freshly painted placards. Their chants flooded the atmosphere and you couldn't help but join in on some of the catchy ones! But the woman beside you put a finger to your mouth as if to silence you.

“We cannot make ourselves seen, my dear” she whispered gently in your ear. But you just smiled.

“Viva la revolution, baby” you replied playfully.

“Viva la revolution to you too”.


	3. Let These Words Stick In Your Mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His words are finally destroying her.

Here lies a troubled woman loosely dressed in her satin sheets. She tumbles and turns like the seven seas, her body crashing and contorting, twisting and turning whichever way in order to provide herself with a little bit of comfort. And yet however hard Theresa tries she cannot seem to find mercy in this nightmare, both during waking and waning hours.

 

“Theresa” he moaned, his tiny fist in the shape of an 'okay' sign and his lips pursed as if he was about to call out to the birds for help, “you are done for”

 

“Excuse me?” she exclaimed, heavily offended and thrown precariously off-guard.

 

“You are so old and we need something fresh and new and exciting if we're going to trade with you”

 

“Well, Britain has a booming-”

 

“I don't care Theresa. You're worthless in the eyes of the mighty Trumpster. The American people are fed up with the old ways. I am taking America back and there is nothing you can do to stop it!”

 

“Donald, I'm sure there is...”

 

“No”. Drumpf placed a tiny finger over Theresa's lips, a pre-emptive silence to her lecture before it had even begun.

 

“No more”

 

* * *

 

 

 

Dappled light awoke her from her slumber. Her baggy eyes struggled to prise themselves apart, leaving Theresa with only slits in which to see the world.

 

'It's all over now' she kept telling herself, 'the nightmare's gone – it wasn't even real!'. But that was far from the truth, for her waking life was a barbaric beast in comparison. It was her own personal hell. And it had only just begun...

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“And so, Mr Speaker” began Jeremy, standing at the box as assertive as a predator prowling and inspecting the rest of the food chain, “over the course of this election campaign it has been made very clear to the electorate that Theresa May and her right-wing Tory government have lost touch with the people of this country. Which is why Labour has tabled a motion of no confidence in Her Majesty's government and we hope to win support from a majority of the house”. And for once in the history of the House of Commons, the Conservative MPs remained still. It was an action that sent tremors through the benches and spines of MPs alike. Maybe the opposition had finally won.

 

Theresa ascended from her seat. Weary eyed with slumped shoulders she gathered her remaining energy up from deep inside of her, attempting to land a somewhat effective finishing blow without the build up. But it was no use. Her lips forbade to move. The words stuck to the back of her throat like glue, burning through her windpipes, paralysing her tongue.

 

“Is the Right Honorable lady alright?” Bercow intervened for the last time.

 

“Y-Yes” she stammered, “And I don't accept what the Right Honorable gentleman is suggesting about me and my government”. But before she could continue there entered a malice into the other side of the room. Laughter like daggers. Mocking, sneering, chastising her for her superficial ignorance. Everyone in that room knew May was finished and everyone in that room also knew that May knew she was finished. She just didn't have the dignity to throw in the towel.

 

“Is she being serious?” sniggered Mhairi from afar.

 

“Somebody put an end to the farce!” Tasmina cackled back. But there was something more malicious in their chime. It was almost like they had been planning this all along...

 

* * *

 

 

 

Overcast. It just had to be overcast, didn't it?

 

“Could London possibly get any more mundane?” you asked yourself as you exited the hotel with Nicola by your side. She slipped a cheeky hand around your waist just to see your embarrassed smile and rosy cheeks before you entered this God forsaken meeting.

 

“I'll take you around Bonnie Scotland one day, lass” she replied, pecking at your forehead as you waited for your taxi. You snuggled up further into her red dress, allowing her to cup an inviting hand around your face. Her dreamy eyes met yours as your lips collided making way for a rather steamy embrace.

 

“I love you, Y/N” sighed Nicola as she broke the kiss, a taxi driver smashing down violently at the horn.

 

“We must've disgusted him” she giggled. But out of the corner of your eye, you could see that it wasn't the love-struck women making out that was alarming him, it was the troubled figure sat upon Hornsey Lane Bridge, bracing for impact. A figure whose legs dangled freely, her arms ready to thrust her into oblivion. A figure without a face, a smile or a care in the world. A figure who looked exactly like you.

 


	4. Let Them Stick In Your Throat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Nicola run off to Bute House

Hand in hand the couple dashed across the station floor, train tickets clutched tightly in your fist.

 

“Train to Edinburgh departs in 3 minutes!” Nicola cried, not a wince of fatigue in her jubilant cheer.

 

“Shit” you panted as you were practically dragged across some barriers and heaved into the train. In the blink of an eye your two entwined figures had crashed into the toilet door, not a glimpse of regret buried in your complexion. Drowsily, you both began to giggle, slurring fragments of the coherence you once had, struggling arduously to express your surplus of pride.

 

As if drunk on adrenaline, Nicola rose hastily, offering you a hand as you giggled your way up to first-class. Hysterical, she collapsed into the first seat with tears dribbling from her eyelids.

 

“I can't believe-” sniffed Nicola, “I can't believe that we actually did that!”. You nodded over to her in agreement as you buckled your seatbelt, your cackle unintentionally jolting your head back into the rock solid seating (brought to you by market failure)! And you could only laugh at your pain. In your defense, you had just partaken in an impromptu threesome which resulted in the use of chloroform on the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom and the spur-of-the-moment decision to run-off with the First Minister of Scotland. Today couldn't possibly get anymore surreal.

 

“Was there any particular reason why you decided to drag me to Edinburgh?” you decided to inquire once to hysteria inside simmered down.

 

“Not really!” she giggled with a hint of embarrassment, “actually, now that you mention it, yes”

 

“It's always 'yes' with you, isn't it?!” you snarkily remarked to even further chuckling.

 

“Aye!”. Nicola stopped to wipe away the tears from her eyes.

 

“But seriously, I didn't want you to get caught up with Trump”

 

“Trump?”

 

“I've been tipped off by some close friends that he was planning a very secret, surprise visit to Theresa's place which was why I thought I'd nip over and see what influence I could have on her”

 

“What, sexually?” you snickered in utter disbelief.

 

“No! Not sexually, my dear!” she cried, running a hand up your inner thigh, “It was just some small talk which spiraled out of control, that's all”. Nicola sighed.

 

“Anyway,” she continued, seemingly inches from engaging in another round of tongue wrestling, “I'm glad you're safe”.

 

 

* * *

 

 

One step. Two steps. Three. Now four. You found yourself bedazzled by this glorious sight. A regal and overwhelmingly intricate design. Everything about this bedroom seemed to be crafted by the most meticulous of fingertips. And this was the room that you'd be staying in for the next God-knows-how-long.

 

Nicola had whispered to you during your little 'sexy time' in the toilets, informing you that you were only in the spare bedroom because her husband wasn't out on a trip or staying in their house in Glasgow. Otherwise, she would've saved all this lust and smut for later in the evening. Either way, you weren't too fussed now that you'd experienced firsthand how incredible just existing in the presence of this masterpiece really was.

 

Dumbfounded and in awe, you stood still in your place, noting how the only thing you've ever really appreciated closer than this was the face of your biological father. The only memory you could salvage was a copy of his face paper-clipped to the edge of your 'file' from when you were given up. From his rounded cheeks to his glowing countenance, you couldn't quite comprehend how someone so sincerely secure with himself could've ended up in a situation where he had to give up his only daughter. Your heart broke for your Dad. And so you found yourself, once again, reaching for the wallet hidden in your bra. You carefully removed the photograph as if you were begging his faded eyes for answers. Your hands grew clammy as you turned the picture over to read the name scribbled in pencil out-loud in your mind.

 

“Peter Murrell” you repeated under your breath, the very words, although unspoken, sticking to your throat. No. They were sticking to your mind.

 

“Where the hell is Peter Murrell when you want him?”

 

 

 


	5. But Don't Ignore The Whispers In The Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The reader gets caught up in a plan to overthrow the government. But how far will Corbyn go? And is everything really as it seems?

Sombre and lonesome are two words that spring to mind as you merely exist in these Georgian halls. Clutching your chilly palms against your mug, you take the time to witness the steam rise and fade like breath on a mirror. The heat cuddled your cheeks as you began to smile and chuckle away quietly behind your teeth. But with baited breath stood a figure watching you, ominously. Cold and calculating, he'll spend his days watching on, waiting patiently for his time to strike.

 

* * *

 

 

Through exquisite door frames, you enter, hand-in-hand. You had no idea where Nicola could possibly be guiding you but it sure as hell felt too damn secretive. Was it the lack of lighting which flooded the room with an ambiguous cry? Was it the drums of the soldier's boots chiming against the linoleum as they charged past you like water through your fingertips. Or maybe it was the fact that you, an unskilled millennial, was now being dragged into a board room occupied by politicians and their advisers alike.

 

“No need to panic, dear” Nicola assured, tucking a stray tuft of your hair in behind your ear, “everything will be fine”. Tenderly, her touch escorted you to a soft but stately chair residing in the far-left corner of the room.

 

“Stay here, love” she whispered in your ear as she laid a gentle kiss on your forehead, “I only want to you watch and listen to what they say”. Masterfully, she glided her fingers away from yours and approached her own seat marked 'Rt Hon Nicola Sturgeon MSP' with the caption 'First Minister of Scotland' engraved beneath. You couldn't help but be silenced, awestruck by her remarkable dexterity when it came to pretty much fucking everything. How can a woman be able to be so per-

 

“-fect...Good morning everybody! Thanks for coming to this meeting today. As you may have already been informed by those who distributed the invites, today is fairly critical when it comes down to the redemption of this country from the destructive grasp of this Conservative government!”. The room roared a tumultuous roar to Corbyn's remarks with impeccable zeal. You could even depict a rebellious grin from beneath Sturgeon's self-restraint.

 

“Today, we will begin the process of over-throwing Theresa May's right wing government for good. Today, we will say 'no more' to austerity, to Brexit and, furthermore, to Trump's menacing hand, controlling and influencing this corrupt government from behind the scenes”. Huge cheers erupted from the crowd but you couldn't help but notice the anomaly hidden in the back. The colour had drained from the face of Timothy James Farron. Prescience and regret filled his solemn expression. For every motion made by the arms of the Grandfather clock, the more ghost-like Farron would become. He was a transient haze, his haunting grimace giving you the impression that he had almost definitely been here before.

 

The remainder of the meeting flashed by before your startled eyes. You too had become like Tim as it clicked in your mind how toxic the rhetoric had become. Consequently, you found yourself stumbling out of that building like a drunken child – traumatised and dumbfounded by the abuse.

 

You were now standing alone on a private road, watching time fly by as blossom buds and grass-green leaves tangled themselves within your locks, as the distant buzz of crowded traffic frustratedly echoed your name down the cobbled streets, as the lonely man came over to join you.

 

“Don't listen to everything they're saying, Y/N” muttered Tim, defeated. He placed a reassuring hand upon your slumped shoulder. Tim understood you. You understood Tim.

 

“The truth will find its way out”. And he turned on his heel and ambled steadily down the uprooted pavement.

 

* * *

 

 

Sirens blasted through Sturgeon's head as she desperately scanned the room for Y/N, but it was to no avail. Her heart sank and her stomach contorted. Has she left? Was this too much for her? Was she going to snitch?

 

Valiantly, she clutched her heels in her fist and sprinted down the foreboding halls. Her lion's mane graced elegantly in the wind, her eyes stubbornly fixated on the rotting doors ahead.

 

Nicola burst through the doorway and dashed down the stone stairs to the street outside. And there, Y/N stood starry-eyed in the middle of the road. Her posture was slumped and restrained yet rigid and evidently petrified.

 

“Y/N, what's wrong, baby?” she gasped, swiftly joining her. Y/N shook her head, releasing the tears from their prison. Broken and betrayed, she sniffed them back, turning her attention to Corbyn, who was making his way to his designated vehicle.

 

“How can a man be so gentle and yet so destructive?”

 

“Sweetheart, I think you missed the point”.

 

 


	6. For They Shall Follow You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All you know to be true is a lie and it is the beginning of the end for Theresa.

And so you sat there on the intricate fabric of the sofa, enveloped and captivated by the bitter night seeping through the poorly fitted windows. Inside you could feel your soul scratching its way out, desperate for disassociation, your flesh buried in its nails.

 

"RUN!" it screamed, flailing its limbs, enforcing pain onto your being, "THIS IS NOT WHO YOU ARE!". You couldn't believe that you'd wound up in some sadistic vendetta against an individual with opposing views. And now the stomach acid had found a new way to make you feel sick.

 

Wearily, you trundled to the window, longing to quench your thirst for the sobering air of the midnight town. Your hands trembled, but you persevered and hauled open the rusted window, an icy gust of wind wrapping itself around your lungs. Coughing and spluttering, you found the strength to straddle yourself around the window frame and sneak out cautiously into the night.

 

* * *

 

 

It was almost like you were in the eye of a storm with the way the world span past you leaving trails of light. A slow-motion blur. You watched as your limbs seemingly float to your every command. The concrete beneath your feet was no longer enough to keep you chained to reality's miserly grasp. You were finally free. And so with no thoughts or cares in the world, you smothered yourself in the hood of your jumper and dispersed into the night.

 

* * *

 

 

The wizened woman sat still at a table made for two. Her husband was still off on a business trip, leaving her to wonder where on Earth her work experience student had gotten to. The pits of her gut ached and trembled like a bad omen. What had Nicola got this young and impressionable woman caught up in? But Theresa knew that she couldn't afford to dwell on the past, and so she kicked back the stool, pushed a strand of rebellious silver back behind her ear, and advanced towards the door.

 

Bag mounted on her slumped shoulder, she marched down the halls on No.11, her rouge kitten heels clapping against the floorboards. Her stride contained an unprecedented level of authority, one that she had never before possessed. But Theresa had every right to enjoy herself in the calm before the storm.

 

* * *

 

It was almost like you swam into that library with such elegance and grace, hidden within the confines of your determination. You figured that even though you couldn't temporarily escape this reality, you could temporarily out-run your mind. All you needed to do was find an enthralling novel and Bob's your uncle.

 

You ran your tingling fingertips over the spines of the novels. It was difficult to comprehend how within the hardback prison laid powerful ideas and stories to present to the world. Thousands upon thousands of words reaching out to you, waiting to be heard. Waiting to be read.

 

You settled on a classic - Pride & Prejudice (Jane Austen) - as a way of surrounding yourself in the past, as far away from the present as physically possible. You figured that you could easily spend the rest of the night finishing it, snuggled into this bean bag in the children's section, and then go out to a cafe for breakfast before escaping back to London. But before you could even begin to turn the page to Chapter 1, a strange yet familiar voice echoed from behind.

 

"Y/NNNNN" taunted the old man, "What are you dooooiinnnggg??". His silly impression of a ghost wasn't about to get you down, though.

 

"I'm reeaadddding, Jeremmyyyyy. It's a libraryyyy". He gave you a stern expression before delving into his queries. Now obviously wasn't the time for your sardonic humour.

 

"So, why exactly did Nicola bring you to our meeting?" his face lighting up with tangible judgment.

 

"No comment" you snarkily replied. Even though your impression of Nicola was now somewhat tainted by her associations, she was still your friend.

 

Jeremy slumped into a pink bean bag next to you and crossed his arms impatiently.

 

"I'll have you know that I know people who would quite happily kill you to protect our group"

 

"Wow. Are you really threatening me?"

 

"Not if you tell me the truth". You snorted at the suggestion.

 

"Do you really think I know?"

 

"So....do I have to hurt Ni-"

 

"No!" you cried, trying to keep your voice down out of respect even though the only other person in the library apart from you and Jeremy was the librarian himself.

 

"Okay, I'll tell you, but it honestly isn't as big a deal as you make it out to be"

 

"Are you sure?"

 

"Certain". You cleared your throat and closed the book cover, careful not to wake the librarian on the other side of the room.

 

"I am meant to be doing work experience at the House of Commons right now. Theresa took me on as an intern. She met up with Nicola for a meeting a few days back and one thing led to another and May was chloroformed and I was whisked off to Edinburgh with Nicola". You sighed. Was this really necessary?

 

"Are you happy now?"

 

"So you have intimate relations with Theresa?". Corbyn grinned.

 

"Yes," you replied, "but that doesn't mean that I'll let you bully her out of office. It is undemocratic and immoral. You should be ashamed of yourself"

 

" _I_ should be ashamed of myself?"

 

"Jeremy, it does matter that her government's policy has increased poverty and inequality among a lot of things in this country. And I'm not going to justify it either! It is completely wrong. But starting a revolution? I thought you were a pacifist". His blue eyes darkened, his irises swirling like an oncoming storm. They dared to question your everything, and so did you. Was he really suggesting this? Is this even real? Nothing made sense anymore. It was almost like you were in a dream...

 

* * *

 

 

Theresa slipped soundly into her office, ready to face another day of paperwork and interviews - but something wasn't right. The shadows whispered and mocked, the light cascading through the open windows providing the only safe space from her incessant paranoia.

 

"Wait," she thought, alarmed, "I didn't open those windows"

 

"I know you didn't Mrs May" blared a pompous, American voice from the wardrobe. Two agents blocked the exits as Trump himself kicked down the doors of the antique wardrobe and entered the arena.

 

"D-Donald?" she stammered, her clammy palms gripping onto the sides of the table, holding on for dear life, "How did you-"

 

'Silence, Theresa" he commanded callously.

 

"I'm Bush," he playfully remarked, reaching around to the back of his extra large beige trousers and loading what seemed to be a pistol, "you're Blair".

 

"What?"

 

"Prepare to say goodbye to everything you love". His tiny hands were now gripped around this blood-thirsty machine. And with his fingers poised over the trigger, Trump lifted it up and aimed it at her trembling body.

 

"You're all mine now, Theresa".


	7. And May You Find The Secrets In The Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The truth is revealed about the nature of Drumpf's plan.

That sudden realization caused you to bolt up from your slumber in a puddle of chilly sweat and nervous tears. Your clammy palms grasped the sides of the sofa with dear life as you slowly but surely came to your senses once more. What had just happened to you? Was it even real?

 

As solid as metal your muscles became and shock flashed through your system causing immobilizing agony. What was that noise blasting through the air? Its every pulsation causing you to wince. You cocked your head to one side, and swiftly acknowledged the existence of the landline telephone. It was terrifying.

 

You were apprehensive with your approach towards this machine. Its glistening rouge coating was like a waving red flag in a hurricane. Frivolously shaking, you poised your fingertips over the phone and gently gripped them around the device. Right now, it was an imposing threat - an intimidating monster in the room. And so as a cry for silence, you held the speaker to your ear and hesitantly listened in...

 

* * *

 

  
It was your average day at the Pentagon. The workplace was brimming with new 'threats', figures and cat videos. The intense aroma of freshly ground coffee beans stirred from the disposable cups invoked an uproar in the salivary glands of workers alike, creating a chain reaction which only filled the pockets of the Starbucks bosses and CEOs with shit-loads of government money.

 

Drumpf aimlessly wandered the halls, hands almost tied behind his back like he was Prince Charles or some shit. The freshly fluffed dead animal on his head had gone all greasy from his restless nights and stressful days. Oh, how he regretted running for the US Presidency.

 

He decided to turn into the bosses office to find out if his proposals had made the cut. And well, if they didn't, some of their jobs certainly won't.

 

"Mr. President!" rejoiced James Mattis as he rose from his seat, "We're so glad to see you! Pull up a chair, old pal; we have something to show you!". Gleefully, Donald did as he was told. He slumped like a stubborn child into a leather gaming chair and used his feeble feet to haul him in towards the table.

 

"Tony and I were just having a discussion," he continued, "and he loves your idea of creating a so-called 'hijacking' device to infiltrate the DPRK"

 

"Really?" his cold slits for eyes opened up wide, "Can I speak to him?"

 

"Certainly," he replied, pushing the microphone to the other end of the desk, "he's on the line now". Drumpf hesitated before pushing the unmute button.

 

"James, could you leave the room for a second?"

 

"Certainly, Mr. President. I'll just be outside"

 

"Thank you, James". Drumpf leaned close into the microphone as though he was about to make some slanderous remark about 'crooked' Hillary when he was interrupted by a cheerful ardor on the other end of the line.

 

"Hey, Donald!" Tony smiled, "Listen, I adore your idea and all but it might violate some human rights laws, don't you think?"

 

"WRONG. North Korea doesn't have any human rights laws and so my genius idea - I mean, it is totally marvelous - is COMPLETELY plausible and only the mainstream media would criticize it because that hate America and-"

 

"Lemme stop you there, Mr. President"

 

"No, Tony, I need to ask you something very quick, it'll only take a moment. Trust me, you'll want to hear this. It is very good."

 

"Okay, sure! Fire away, Don! But not literally!" snickered he.

 

"Can you adapt this machine so it hijacks anyone?"

 

"Sir, what are you suggesting?"

 

"Because the machine, in order to go undetected, has to imitate the ideologies and expressions made by that individu-fuck these words are too complicated for me"

 

"It's okay, Mr. President" Tony considered, "Who have you got in mind, exactly?"

 

"You're not even ready. Lemme tell you, this is going to BLOW your MIND and you'll say 'Drumpf, you're an absolute genius. Why didn't I think of tha-"

 

"Who is it, Sir?". Drumpf puckered his moistened lips, releasing a spray of saliva into the air.

 

'Theresa May"

 

* * *

 

 

 

"That's...disgusting" you flinched as Tim revealed Donald's real intentions.

 

"I know. And that's exactly why I was being so partial towards Theresa. It's not her fault and it's not fair that Corbyn is doing all of this to her"

 

"I fully understand. Look, is there something I can do to help? This is quite serious"

 

"I don't know, I'm afraid. I've got your mobile number so I'll try and contact you if anything new arises. For now, just stay safe and as far away from the discourse as physically possible. I don't want you to get caught up in it, that's all". You were about to thank Tim for his honesty when Nicola came running down the hall towards you, a deeply concerned frown etched onto her face.

 

"Thank you," you stumbled, desperately trying to end the phone call before Nicola could penalize you for it, "Speak soon". And as Nicola was about to snatch the phone from your grasp, you slammed it down and hung up.

 

"What?" you sternly inquired, challenging her motives.

 

"Who the hell were you talking to?!" she exclaimed, hands on hips with an expression of profound disappointment.

 

"Just a friend, that's all!" you lied through your teeth, "Why does it matter?". Nicola, who was not having any of your cheek, swiftly wrapped her arms around your waist and pushed you into the wall, resting her forehead against yours.

 

"Because I don't want Theresa or anyone else knowing that you're with me"

 

"I think you're too late about that one..."

  
  


* * *

 

 

  
Cuddled in the back of a nightclub you hid, Nicola by your side. She held you dearly and intimately against her chest as she began to lay kisses on your forehead. Paranoid, she operated, her countenance flooded with feelings of sheer terror and guilt. You could see it in her eyes as they glistened in the low light. And slowly, that guilt began to envelop you...

 

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," Nicola began, "I didn't mean to hurt you"

 

"What do you mean?" you asked as you brought yourself closer to her skin. Nicola shivered as you let your warm breath hug her spine. Endearingly, she sighed, locking a leg around yours.

 

"Last night..." she muttered, "I'm sorry about..last night.."

 

"Would you care to elaborate for a silly bean like me?" you winked. Nicola chuckled and pushed her lips into yours, her soft hand cupping your face before adventuring lower down your figure which was tightly hugged by a Y/F/C dress. Soon, the repetitive kisses turned into French ones and as her hand reached your underwear you broke away from it all, hell bent on getting the answers you deserved.

 

"What happened last night, then?"

 

"But we were about to-"

 

"Tell me first, then I'll let you". Indignantly, she pulled you upright, still clinging to you like a teddy bear. You ran a caring hand through her mane as you brought her in closer, hiding her face in your neck. Nicola began to sob.

 

"I didn't mean to..." she cried, "I was scared I'd lose you.."

 

"Honey, I don't care what you did. Just tell me"

 

"Okay," she sniffed, "but I'm so sorry". Your heart broke for her as she struggled to find the words to say.

 

"I-I drugged you"

 

"Y-You...drugged me?"

 

"Aye..." she breathed, her head hung low in disappointment.

 

"I shouldn't have..."

 

"It's alright, I promise" you assured her, "but don't do that shit again"

 

"Oh I won't, believe me"

 

"I do"

 

"Can we...like...forget about this?" Nicola inquired, running a tentative hand through her hair as her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. You agreed and she called a cab to take you two back home. Giggles of excitement escaped your throat as it became clear to you what the rest of the night would entail. Man, this is one fucked up relationship - but you didn't mind! You craved the adrenaline pumping through your veins with the knowledge that you were partaking in things that you weren't necessarily allowed to do. She was a married woman, after all, and you hoped that you weren't going to be the defining factor which destroyed her marriage.

 

But a lone man stood at the back of the bar, watching on with a document crumpled in his hand. And unfortunately for Nicola, the shadow now knew all. And this shadow was about to set fire to her life.

 


	8. For They Will Be Found As The Spell Is Undone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 24:00:00

Swiftly but soundly, you packed your bags. Corbyn had planned a coach trip down to London, picking up other recruits along the way. The fateful day was soon to arrive and you had no means of escaping or sabotaging such an intricate plan. You were almost certainly going to be found guilty by association for the crimes they were about to commit. Your gut trembled as you realised what you would become: far more than a disappointment, maybe even a monster.

 

You reached for your wallet tucked safely down your bra. Attentively, you slid the portrait of your Father from its prison and held it lovingly between your hands. Closing your eyes, you paid a great deal of attention to the material the photograph was printed onto and how easily it slid between your fingers. It was sleek and smooth yet yellowed and crisp from days gone by. Somehow, you envisioned your Dad to be the same; he'd still look modern and statesmanlike as theorised by your social worker, but his demeanour would allude to a man as mature and integral as an autumn breeze. At night you'd been kept awake, fantasising over the nature of his embraces. Would they be soft and cuddly like a teddy bear? Or would they hold you tight, brimming with unkempt emotion? Either way, you'd tell yourself that you'd be the perfect daughter: polite but witty, organised but care-free, wise but young. And it was only a matter of time before you'd find him.

 

Hastily, you slipped your arms through the straps of your denim backpack, tightening when appropriate. You slipped out of the guest room without a trace, tiptoeing down many corridors until you reached Nicola's office. A wave of apprehension hit you as you approached the age-old handle. Someone's in there. No...two. And they're having one intense argument.

 

* * *

 

 

 

“I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU'D DO THIS TO ME!” bellowed an exasperated man, tears welling in his eyes, “After everything we've been through...”

 

“I'm sorry” sniffed Nicola, “and I know it isn't enough”

 

“Why did you do it? Are you secretly gay? Is there something I can't give you?”

 

“No,” she sighed, shaking her head adamantly, “no way”.

 

“Then why would you cheat on me with a lass so young? We're married, Nicola! Don't you know what that means?”

 

“Yes! It's just....”. Peter stumbled back, shell-shocked. He didn't know if he'd be able to take the words that he thought she was about to say. After years of loyalty and sincerity and a passionate infatuation with the love of his life, he never thought it would end like this. And in that moment, Peter swallowed his pride and fell helplessly to the floor.

 

“I thought you had a secret life. I raked through some of your files whilst clearing out our bedroom. They said something about a daughter. I felt betrayed and I thought that maybe...”. She looked down at his starry eyes. They had never glistened so bright. She had never witnessed such beautiful agony.

 

“I shall be honest with you” he replied, “I do. Her Mother put her up for adoption Y/A years ago. It hurt so badly that I sought to forget. Well, until now”

 

“I'm sorry I did this to you. I should've just asked before-”

 

“I don't blame you for this, Nicola” responded he, “I blame Jeremy for influencing you”. An air of confusion saturated her countenance.

 

“What do you mean influenced me?”

 

“Oh, Nicola” Peter smirked as he ascended, sure that he was right, “You've been under his control this whole time! And I think it's about time we turned you off”.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Intently, you stared through the keyhole as your Father placed his hands around the sides of Nicola's face, pressing inwards on her temples, and causing her to fall gracefully into his grasp. He held her so tightly, his earnest adoration spilling from his eyes. Peter sighed as he ran a hand through her dry locks whilst Nicola slowly came to her senses.

 

“We'll find her” she whispered, defeated, nuzzling her forehead against his chest, “I promise you if it's the last thing we do. We will find _our_ daughter”.

 

* * *

 

 

 

Hiding at the back of things seemed to be your trademark. And this bus was a surprisingly good place to do such a thing. Many of the black-out curtains had been drawn, illuminating the place with a gloomy but warm atmosphere. Not many even ventured past the middle of the bus, situating themselves as close to the driver as they possibly could, almost like they were nerds or something. And then you realised that most of them were politicians, so it only made sense.

 

The urge to confront your parents grew and grew as they finally set foot onto the vehicle. You could see them scuttling down the aisle, searching for a quiet spot to settle. But you remembered that Peter only knew you as the one his wife cheated on him with. And so the chances of him believing you and not berating Nicola were very slim indeed.

 

A sigh of relief escaped your lips as they sat down 6 rows in front of you, far away from the possibility of getting spotted. But your heart ached in your chest with an agony that was soon to envelop your stomach. What a trip this was going to be.

 

The last figure to board the bus was none other than Timothy Farron himself. His brow was crinkled with an air of confliction – an air that became more apparent as he hurried anxiously down the aisle.

 

It was almost like he was scouring every seat to find a face that would take away his frustrations. He seemed desperate and there was a restraint when it came to asking for guidance amongst his fellow passengers. Eventually, he saw you staring from the back of the bus and the frown etched onto his face twisted into a grin.

 

“Y/N,” Tim began, wary of your wish to remain a secluded, “how are you doing?”

 

“I'm doing fine,” you whispered as he fell into the seat beside you, “you?”

 

“Very well, thanks”. And as he placed his bag down at his feet, you rested your weary head upon his squidgy shoulder. And Tim, noticeably fatigued, did the same back.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**23:59:59**

 

 

 


	9. And Light Shall Find Its Way Into Every Corner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let the secrets be revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y/F/T/A = your favourite takeaway :P

"Prepare to say goodbye to everything you love". His tiny hands were now gripped around this blood-thirsty machine. And with his fingers poised over the trigger, Drumpf lifted it up and aimed it at her trembling body.

  


"You're all mine now, Theresa"

  


“Not so fast, Donald” chimed an elderly voice from the room adjacent, a tall figure emerging from the shadows.

  


“Could we _please_ postpone the martyrdom?” moaned Jimmy, the SS agent blocking the door. Through his sardonic tone, you could easily tell that his marriage was failing and his kids were around the annoying age of 12. He also had a cocaine addiction!

  


“What's martyrdom again?” inquired Drumpf, bringing the pistol back down to his side, “Is it a news company? Did rocket man invent it?”. Donald scoffed.

  


“SAD! The US military are the best in the world!”. Before Donald could proceed with his doltish tangent though, Corbyn had already slammed Jimmy to the floor, a metal circular device unclipping from his belt, frightening both Theresa and the other SS officer as it skidded across the linoleum. Jimmy was now unconscious.

  


“How the hell does he own that?!” wailed Theresa, panicking profusely, “That's MI5 equipment!”. Corbyn gently admired the strange device from the palm of his hand. Its case glimmered in the morning light, almost blinding the dotard in front of him.

  


“What is it, Theresa?” asked Jeremy, his stern countenance blending in with the shadows surrounding him. Jerry, the other SS agent, shook his head incessantly at Theresa – a plea for her secrecy. But Theresa didn't care. She was too scared to.

  


“When activated, it creates an alternative reality – almost like a simulation” she hesitantly hummed, “You can warn your enemies without causing any harm. Or at least, in theory...”

  


“Aside from bringing us unnecessarily closer to World War 3, how is this dangerous?”

  


“In order for it to work, the device creates a clone of the person who activates it. It's supposed to be a safety feature to stop it getting into the wrong hands. However, when deactivated, the machine gets confused and both the clone and its real counterpart are executed. This is the same if the clone dies in the simulation”

  


“And **we** _need_ it” Drumpf insisted.

  


“It's not safe, Donald. And by the way, weren't you going to shoot me? What even is in that gun?”. Drumpf's slits for eyes lit up emphatically. He'd finally be able to share his little boy project with his supposed ally. And then he'd test it on her. Today just kept getting better and better.

  


“Jerry,” he commanded, “explain to this woman what miracles it does”

  


“It hijacks the victim's brain, allowing anyone with access to the inserted smart chip to control the recipient”

  


“That's _evil_ ” spat Theresa, “that's _pure_ _evil_ ”

  


“But I,” Jeremy chimed in, “already know about it, and so will the rest of the world once I get out of this place. I'd say you'd be an international disgrace if you weren't already”

  


“You're seeming very chipper today,” interrupted Jerry, “I wonder what would happen if we kidnapped your relatives?”. He straightened his tie as a smirk carved itself across his pasty face.

  


“Because if you tell _ANYONE –_ and I _mean_ anyone at all _-_ we will know. And we _will_ find them. And we _will_ slit the throats of the youngest members of your extended families”

  


“You bastards” she scathed.

  


“It's a matter of national security, my dear”. Drumpf poised his fat fingers over the trigger.

  


“And I think it's time for you to go...”. But as Drumpf's atrophying muscles pulled against the gun, Jeremy jumped out in front of Theresa. And as the needle escape the barrell, the three of them watched on in horror as the 68-year-old toppled to the ground, falling into the semi-conscious arms of Jimmy McHew, and handing him back the device that was rightfully his.

  


* * *

 

  


**15:59:59**

  


London's congested scent caught onto your lungs like deodorant in a dry changing room. You coughed. You spluttered. But most of all, you wept. But silently. It was very impressive.

  


As you clambered down from the battle bus you saw before you an extensive crowd roaring and chanting like their lives depended on it. Activists and politicians alike from all across the political divide gathered here in unity over one key message: that we are not Drumpf's bitches. And that message was going to be heard.

  


You stood alone in the crowd, rattled to your core by the sheer scale of it. The deafening cries of a million people ostensibly blasted through your eardrums like a current through a circuit. And your light-headedness didn't fail to show.

  


Nicola took your shaking hand into hers and laid a kiss on your forehead. You turned to her, shocked that she would continue this behaviour even after her husband scolded her for it. But her husband was nowhere to be seen.

  


She quickly guided you to the back of the crowd and down some murky streets until you got to a quaint park nearby. She sat you down under a willow tree and began running an attentive hand through your locks. Compliantly, you nuzzled into her collarbone, wrapping your arms around her hips as tears began to escape your ducts.

  


“You're meant to be my biggest regret,” she began, an amiable smile lighting up her complexion, “but I still love you dearly”. Her soft hands affectionately rubbed the tears from your cheeks as her lips met yours once again. It was a kiss so tender it made you want to melt into her arms. You couldn't help but adhere to her silent commands as her tongue began exploring your mouth, her hands rummaging skillfully through her shoulder bag. Discreetly, Nicola took out a small bottle of lubricant and a small vibrator and broke from the steamy exchange.

  


“Let's play a game,” she suggested, sensually breathing down your neck, “I have the remote in my bag. Even if my husband is present I can still play with you”. She held your crotch as she pecked you once more on the lips. Playfully, she slipped her spare hotel key down your bra.

  


“Peter's going out at nine to help Jeremy organise some demonstration. He won't be back until 11 tomorrow morning at best. Tonight, wear your best lingerie and come to my room. I'll be waiting for you...”. You both giggled at the suggestion. She lathered the toy in an excessive amount of lubricant and let it glide into your moist underwear.

  


“What if my lingerie isn't at all sexy?” you inquired, nibbling at your bottom lip as her hand remained down your pants for way longer than it was socially acceptable.

  


“Come out with me to Ann Summers” she suggested, “I'll pick something out for you, my precious wee girl”. Nicola went into lay a kiss on your forehead when her phone buzzed.

  


“Shit” she cursed under bated breath. It was Peter. He was coming to get her.

  


“Meet me there in half an hour”. She handed you a ten-pound note.

  


“In the meantime, go get yourself a takeaway”. She hastily removed her hand from your crotch, straightened your Y/F/C dress and pecked amorously at your cheek.

  


“Don't be late!”. And with that, Nicola scurried off to the main road, bag draped over her shoulder.

  


“Don't worry,” you muttered to yourself, “I wouldn't dream about it in a million years...”

  


 

* * *

 

 

Approaching Y/F/T/A, you couldn't help but notice a strange suited man following behind you. It was almost like he was in a spy drama with the way he'd chosen to dress in his black shades and pristine attire, an earpiece which fitted perfectly in his ear and a suspiciously large briefcase by his side. You could tell he was listening to someone important so you decided to dismiss his existence as pure coincidence and carry on with your day.

  


You were in line for your order when you saw the strange man again. This time he seemed incredibly more agitated. Was it the bothered manner in which he scanned the room's décor or was it the way he examined his Rolex every 30 seconds? You thought both – and tensions amongst the other guests were continuing to soar.

  


“Y/N?” called one of the kitchen staff, holding your order in their hands. You waved your receipt and nodded amiably.

  


“That'd be me!” you beamed. Seeing happy faces was the best part of your day. Apart from reconciling with Nicola. Nothing beats that.

  


You sat down in the park outside and began to tuck in. You admired the birds taking flight through the polluted skies and the verdant green of the tree's leaves. Through pain and adversity, mother nature continued to grow – and it was the most beautiful sight known to man.

  


Suddenly, the strange man rushed past you, bag in hand. It was like he was racing to the scene of a crime. Like a paramedic of some sorts. It was like every second counted to him. Every second which could mean life or death. But in the heat of the moment, a small circular device fell from his pocket and landed on the ground. You watched it glimmer in the evening heat, light reflecting off its every angle, before turning to him and vying for his attention. But it was no use. Hesitantly, you decided to put it into your purse and keep it safe for him. If he was really as high profile as he seemed, his office would track you down and ask for it back, although that would all depend on how dangerous the object was deemed to be in the hands of the wrong person.

  


* * *

 

  


The butterflies in your stomach circled your mind as you approached the imposing building. The department store loomed over you, daring you to enter. It was literally the face of capitalism – and greed was etched into its soul.

  


“Bit daunting, eh?” smirked Nicola as she approached, “These buildings generally are”. She tangled her fingers within yours, her thumb assuringly rubbing the top of your hand.

  


“Let's have a look inside, shall we?”.

  


Hand-in-hand, she guided through the aisles, glancing at you with a mischevious smirk everytime you passed a manniquin wrapped in lingerie. Nicola endearingly pulled you close to her and kissed you passionately on the lips. And that's when you realised – you were the only ones in that area of the shop.

  


“Someone's probably going to be watching through CCTV,” you remarked, breaking from her hold.

  


“Who says we're gonna do it in here, misses?”. You giggled as the blood rushed to your cheeks.

  


“Come with me,” she instructed, “I picked out one from the website that I want you to wear”. Nicola ended up taking you to the changing rooms with a longline balcony bra, and a pair of high-waisted briefs. They were of the Ophelia collection and so were meticulously crafted with lace amongst other materials. They screamed classy – and the deep blue also screamed “Scotland”. No wonder she picked them out.

  


“Try these on, princess” she whispered from around the corner, handing the items to you. And so you retreated behind the curtain and did as you were told – but not before Nicola followed you in. Silently in the corner, she watched you undress. First, you removed your leather jacket, letting it fall to you feet. You picked it up as you slipped off your boots, pushing both of them into the corner. Next was your Y/F/C dress, and you knew Nicola was waiting especially for this item of clothing to go! And so you slowly unzipped to back, letting it slide off your body with ease, landing in a pile at your feet.

  


Before long, you were fully exposed in all your naked glory. Horny and vulnerable, you bit your lip and glanced over your shoulder to find an infatuated First Minister masturbating to your every move.

  


“C-come here, gorgeous” she muttered, ushering you to straddle her hips. Desperately, she removed her fingers from her clitoris and began using them to explore you, leaving a noticeable trail of lovebites as she went. A shiver ran down your spine as she ran kisses to your ear, her warm breathing exhaling faster and faster against your soft skin.

  


“I know I was going to leave this for tonight,” she began,”but I really want to shag you here and now”

  


“Me too” you replied as she attentively clutched your breasts.

  


“That's what I like to hear...”. Without a moments notice, Nicola had laid you down on the sofa and had descended onto her hands and knees. She was almost worshipping you with the way she complimented your every detail, rubbing her hands across your thighs and begging you to open up. You decided that you wanted her to get her fair share of pleasure too and so began unzipping her red dress, causing her to pull herself closer into you, lips latched around your throbbing clitoris. You let out a long, sensual moan as she began to slip her fingers into your tight vagina, ardently venturing through the roof of your core in order to find your g-spot. And she did, right as you'd stripped her down to her knickers. She wasn't wearing a bra, only a black lacy thong – and she chuckled slyly when you noticed.

  


“Weren't expecting that, were you?” she muttered, awaiting your reply. But you could only sit there and moan for the pleasure had practically debilitated you.

  


“P-please let me...”

  


“Of course, baby girl. I am reserved for you and only you”. She rose to her feet and laid on top of you, pushing your fragile body down onto the sofa, your mouths forever intertwined. Hungry for more, you swiftly pulled her thong down to her ankles and ran a knuckle through her moistened labia. She giggled and guided your fingers inside of her, riding them like tomorrow was her last.

  


“Oh sweetheart, please let me stay with you forever” she begged, “I need you in my life”

  


“I need you too” you begged, resisting the urge to call her mum. You knew this was wrong on every level, but you were madly in love with this woman.

  


“I need to tell you something, sweetie” she began as she lowered herself closer to your torso.

  


“You can tell me anything”

  


“I know who you are,” she sighed, “and I don't want to be your step-mum. I want to be your wife”.

  


  


 

 


	10. My Dear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nicola brings you to your knees

The adulterous figure had a firm grasp of your loosely clothed body as you cuddled, severely aroused, hidden around the corner of the hotel lobby. Maybe it was the carnivorous intent in her impassionated kisses which caused you to lose all self-control. Or maybe it was the animalistic desire in which she damn near tore your dress open with so she could finally demonstrate how profound her attachment to your body truly was. But this exchange ended in desperation and shame on both sides as you both heard Peter entering the lobby with a few of his pals.

 

“I just need to collect a few things from my room,” he began, “I'll be back in a jiffy”

 

“Aye, pal” one of them replied, eyeing up the dinner menu. His accomplice looked over and rolled his eyes.

 

“D'ya think we could have dinner here instead of that commie twat's house?”

 

“It's worth a try, I guess,” the accomplice grinned, “and we might even get tae speak tae Nicola!”

 

“Good point”. But right in that moment, Nicola realised that the elevator had broken down and so, therefore, Peter would inevitably head around the corner towards the stairs where he'd find his wife touching up her 'assistant'. And Nicola did **not** want to get caught up in that exchange!

 

Effortlessly, she bundled you into the cleaning cupboard and closed the door before straightening her dress and pretending to have just wandered down from their room.

 

“Hiya, misses,” Peter remarked as the two of them exchange glances in the corridor. Nicola met him with a deceitful kiss on the cheek before inquiring into the status of his task.

 

“Yeah, I guess it's doing alright,” he replied, “but it's still going to be an overnight job if that's what you're asking”. Peter sighed as Nicola looked on, indifferent.

 

“Shall we have some dinner? I've booked us a table anyway so it's not like you can wriggle your way out of this one quite so easily!”. Nicola giggled.

 

“Aye, fine,” said she before acknowledging what that actually meant.

 

“Good. Now I've got to get something from the room”. Peter laid a kiss on Nicola's forehead before hurrying off upstairs.

 

“I'll be back in a minute!”

 

“Sure!” she replied, leaning against the cupboard door, “I'll be doon here, waiting”. She let out a long sigh of relief as she opened the door and kissed you on the lips.

 

“I still have that vibrator in”. Nicola's eyes lit up wide before scrambling through her bag for the remote. She hastily pulled it out, a grin lining her face. Luckily for her, it was small enough to conceal in her palm. But Nicola couldn't afford to spend any longer pondering on how she'd pleasure you that evening.

 

“Hide in here until Peter comes” she instructed, “then head up to my room and use anything to your heart's desire. You have the key already”. You bit your lip to the suggestion.

 

“And don't let anyone see you. I can't have employees interrupting my meal to say some young lass has broken in!”

 

“Affirmative”

 

“Just be the good girl you normally are, okay?”

 

“Sure thing” you beamed as she shut the door. You smirked. A night to yourself with Nicola. And it had only just begun.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Discreetly, you opened the door to her luxury chamber and stood there in amazement as you examined all the gold-encrusted goods the hotel had to offer. From the red carpet to the crafted ceiling, this place had it all. Heck, even the shower curtains looked grossly expensive!

 

The past month had been incredibly strange. Not only had you been basking in some exquisite accommodations and conversing with numerous high-profile figures, but you'd also tangled yourself up in your biological father's marriage, a cross-party revolt and a potentially fatal plot against the Prime Minister!

 

And so wearily, you let your clothing fall to the floor, leaving you to wander about aimlessly in your lingerie. You ambled over to the suitcases sprawled across the floor, inquisitively opening Nicola's, pulling out her tight red dress. She always looked so attractive in it. But her attractiveness hurt you like her infidelity hurt your father. Despite this, you were eager to try it on and soon you were admiring yourself in the pristine mirrors lining the wall adjacent.

 

Suddenly, a powerful force overcame you, forcing you to the bed. The strong buzzing drove you crazy, leaving you helplessly writhing across the satin sheets. Eventually, you slid out of the dress, leaving you bent over across the side of the bed. Inside there grew a primal need for Nicola's undying attention. There was now nothing more in the world you wanted now more than her touch. But there was always going to be someone standing in your way.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“And so there is nothing in this world that I'd want more than for us to find my daughter and provide for her like I should've done all those years ago” finished Peter as the couple paid for their meal.

 

“I'd like that too” Nicola replied, fiddling with the settings on the controller in order to produce some kind of rhythm for Y/N. She folded her legs uncomfortably as she acknowledged her arousal. She longed to be there beside her, watching on as her limbs flailed across her bed, desperate for more.

 

“I've got to go now,” Peter stated as they stood up for the kiss, “see you later!”

 

“Happily” smirked she at the suggestion, “I'll be waiting”

 

“Good”. And with that, he trundled off and out of the building. Nicola let out a zealous cry as she jumped lightly for joy, careful not the fuck up her ankles by falling in her heels. Peter was now gone until 11 am. And it was 9 pm right now. Nicola now had 14 hours she could put aside to 'comfort' Y/N. And by comfort, she implied something far greater and far more devious.

 

Nicola could hear her moans from the bottom of the empty corridor, and they only increased in intensity as she advanced further towards the door. They managed to send her imagination wild, causing Nicola to stumble as her anticipation got the better of her. She now had full control over Y/N. And with no more husband standing in her way, she was going to be as dominant as she liked.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Nicola opened the door and strode in like the world leader she was. The door slammed behind her, complimenting her existence with an empowering gust of wind. Her precious looked up compliantly from her slumped posture. She had been hunched over the side of the bed, moaning and waiting this entire time. She'd even taken the liberty of getting undressed.

 

Nicola bit her lip as she made her way across the room.

 

“I see you've been waiting for Mummy for quite some time” she began, tracing her fingers across Y/N's back.

 

“I-I need you..inside me...” she whimpered, shaking from the orgasms, her legs spreading themselves further apart.

 

“I need you too, baby girl”. Nicola slowly slipped her fingers down the back of Y/N's underwear, gently removing the vibrator. It was soaked in her vaginal juices. Nicola skimmed in across the floor, watching on as the back of it snapped, releasing the batteries across the room.

 

“I must say, you are very wet, sweetheart,” she remarked, lifting Y/N's limp torso as she endeavoured to sit down. Y/N cuddled into her and then crawled on top, causing Nicola to fall back. She swiftly sat back up, letting her rest in her arms as her breathing calmed down, tears of joy and frustration tumbling from her cheeks. Nicola pulled her close as she allowed Y/N to unzip her dress.

 

“I-I want you” she struggled, “but I don't want to upset him”

 

“We'll run away together then,” she interjected, “Somewhere far away. Somewhere where he can never find us”

 

“Please” she begged, guiding her hand to her crotch, “I need you. Fuck me as hard as you like. Fuck me with your every frustration. Fuck me until I'm unconscious. Just don't let this be our last.”. And so Nicola clutched her tightly, passionately snogging this broken young girl in her arms. Skillfully, she unclasped her bra in one big swoop and chucked it at the window. She began to latch her lips desperately around her breasts as she left scratches down her back, sucking and scraping away at her like a cub desperate for her Mother's milk. She forced a hand down Y/N's lacy briefs and began to finger her, causing her to cry out louder than before, inundated with orgasmic joy. Tears streamed down her cheeks as Nicola descended, her very touch arousing her much more than should be humanly possible. Nicola was now knuckles deep in her future wife and wasn't planning on stopping anytime soon.

 

“P-please, M-Mummy,” she begged, desperate for the fulfilment of her insatiable urge, “H-harder...”. Nicola's emotional expression twisted into a grin as she reached into her suitcase and pulled out her large, vibrating strapless strap-on.

 

“Would this do, baby girl?” Nicola asked as her sweetheart struggled to sit up. She nodded profusely at the suggestion.

 

“Well then,” she commanded, ascending to her feet, “bend over, you dirty thing”.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

You did as she said, hushed by her change in character. You craved her authority, her dominance. You longed to be one with her perfection.

 

Submissively, you watched as she lathered the toy in lube and inserted it into herself, leaning up against the wall as the vibrations began to flow through her.

 

“Oh baby...” she breathed, “you make me so wet”. You giggled as she tried to retrieve some ribbon from her bag when she was overcome by sensations of pleasure coursing through her veins. She lifted her head, moaning your name over and over again until saying it just wasn't enough anymore. And so she began circling her clitoris with a finger coated in your vaginal juices. Eventually, Nicola regained the strength to tie your hands together with the satin and position you comfortably against the mattress.

 

“God, you're so beautiful, Y/N,” she said as she bit her lip and inserted the toy into you. Vigorously, she began thrusting, channelling her desires into every hip movement. Into every heartbeat.

 

She spanked you playfully as you began to succumb. You were hers now and only hers. Because the truth of the matter was that Nicola rather enjoyed watching you struggle helplessly as you pleaded for more. It reminded her of the old times with her previous partners. How she'd exert her dominance and they'd obey without question. But with Peter, it was more balanced, leaving her hungry for more – and _you_ were just the remedy _she_ needed.

 

“MUMMY!” you screamed as you were tipped over the brink of orgasm. But not before Nicola joined you, endearingly holding herself against the comfort of your back.

 

“Baby girl,” she sobbed, “I love you”.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

And so the two of you just laid there, entwined with each other and the freshly washed duvet as the light of the TV blared down brightly onto your naked bodies. Nicola's hands massaged your wet scalp, the attentiveness triggered by your post-intercourse shower now bleeding into your waning hours.

 

Nicola held you tightly as she laid a tender kiss on your forehead. She smiled as she recalled her promise of taking you away from out of the crossfire. Because though great women are tempered in flame, Nicola would never allow herself to watch you burn. And the fire was ready to threaten your life.

 

“Can we run away to the Highlands? I've always liked the Highlands” you whispered as to break the deafening silence.

 

“Of course we can, sweetheart. I can buy us a wee cottage if you'd like”

 

“I'd like that a lot, Mummy”. Nicola chuckled.

 

“I don't know why you insist on calling me that but I've grown to like it”. She kissed your forehead again.

 

“Well anyhow, _Mummy_ thinks that if we weren't about to run away from this situation _we'd_ be like partners in crime, you and me”. You snorted at the suggestion.

 

“Come on, I'm barely doing anything apart from running off and having sex with you”

 

“You know, you're the reason why we came right here, right now”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Do you seriously not know?”. A look of bewilderment enveloped your expression.

 

“Y/N, you're proof that Theresa is willing to pander to anyone in order to get her own way. At the start of this all, she was willing to do anything to convince you to be her assistant. I'm so glad I intervened”

 

“So you were just looking after the evidence, in a sense”

 

“Yeah, but that was only until I fell in love with her on the ride home”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

**04:59:59**

 

 

Nicola rolled out from beneath the sheets, careful as not to wake her step-daughter, who laid soundly asleep next to her. Nicola wanted to show Y/N she cared today. That she was more than just a tool in a dangerous game. She was going to sort her life out. And today was the day.

 

Nicola picked up Y/N's belongings from off of the floor. First, it was her new lingerie, then her dress and jacket. But as she went to hang up the jacket in question, a strange circular object fell from a pocket. It must've escaped the confines of her purse. And Nicola knew exactly what it was.

 

Carefully, she cradled it in her palms as she wandered over to her suitcase. She placed Y/N's copy down at her knees as she brought out her own, encased neatly in a box. She giggled as she switched the two around, and put everything back to the way it was. Or seemingly was, at least. And it was only a matter of time before she'd finally have her way. One wrong move on Y/N's part would be enough to destroy Theresa. One accidental press of a button and then their truth would finally be revealed. It was now time to play the waiting game...

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

“I have to say,” complimented Jeremy, “You've done some marvellous work, here”. The lads just laughed, brushing it off like it was no big deal. Like it was only a car bomb which could potentially blow a hole in the front of 10 Downing Street. No big deal. Nothing to see here. All is well and good on Planet Earth.

 

“But boss,” Peter Murrell began, “our dealers did say that the trigger mechanism had a tendency to glitch. Who says we're not going to get into trouble?”

 

“Nobody can track it back down to us. So even if it does fail, it'll probably be brushed off as a plot by some hard-left group to cause harm to the Prime Minister. No one will suspect a thing”

 

“Are you certain, though? I mean, I have things I still want to do and prison is just an inconvenience at this moment in time”

 

“I can assure you 100%, that you'll be a-okay. Just take your time and follow the plan”

 

 


	11. Your Revelation Is Soon To Come

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reality is an illusion.

Nicola let out a sigh deeper than the sea itself as she tapped impatiently on the face of her watch.

 

“We're going to be late” she muttered under her breath, the indignance brimming on the tip of her tongue. Affectionately, you squeezed her tight, burrowing your face even farther into her warm chest. Nicola did the same in response, wrapping a hand around your hips and squeezing at your pockets. But little did you know that she'd just deliberately pressed a button which could tear reality itself apart.

 

“I'm not too bothered about attending the meeting” you replied, “in fact, I'd rather spend my time with you”. Nicola smirked at the suggestion.

 

“I wish we could, princess”. She laid numerous attentive kisses on your forehead as she held you dearly against her figure.

 

“Tell you what,” Nicola began, “I'll drop you off at the cinema with £30 and you could watch a movie until this bullshit meeting is over”

 

“I would love that”

 

“I know you would, baby girl”. The driver's tyres screeched against the tarmac as the vehicle ground to an abrupt halt. Beads of sweat rolled down his wrinkles like marbles against a playground, falling to his lap and trickling down the rips of his jeans.

 

Nicola held the door open, ushering you in. She hastily shut the door as you snuggled up next to her, bound by the safety of your seatbelt.

 

“S-sorry..about that” he went on to explain, “Bloody Muslims. Suicide is such a s-selfish thing..”. You both raised an eyebrow at his comments but chose to ignore them as there were seemingly a lot more productive things to do.

 

“Get to our destination, and quickly” snapped Nicola to the frantic nods of the startled male.

 

“Yes, yes, ma'am”. And he lifted the handbrake and sped off like his life depended on it.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The taxi arrived at Leicester Square within half an hour, dropping the both of you outside Odeon Cinema, bags in hand. The bright lights from across the street stung at your pupils, causing you to let out a groan in front of your beloved. Once again, she pulled you into a warm embrace, shielding you from the quiet world. It was nearly 9:30 am and yet London was still asleep.

 

“You're not going to go to the cinema, are you?” said she with a stern expression enveloping her face. And she was somewhat right. You see, you left the majority of your belongings at Downing Street and if you were about to run off with Nicola, you didn't necessarily need Theresa to keep hold of your belongings – especially of the items with great sentimental value. Besides, it would only take 15 minutes to get there!

 

“I need to get my stuff from Downing Street” you sighed, trying to pull yourself from the hug.

 

“Y/N,” she remarked gravely, “It's not safe for you there”

 

“Theresa wouldn't hurt me, Nicola”

 

“You don't know that”. Her arms tightened around you and a hand gracefully cupped your cheek.

 

“And besides, you don't know where Jeremy is sending his crew. I don't want you to get caught up in it”

 

“I'll only be there for a good 10 minutes”  
  


“But I don't want those 10 minutes to be your last”

 

“They won't. I swear”. Nicola glanced down at her wrist. She was going to be late.

 

“Okay, well, you come straight back here once you're done. I'll be back in 45 minutes. And if you're not here, I'll hunt you down. You know I will”. She pecked at your lips as you went to bite your own. Nicola then took out her phone as sent a link to you.

 

“It's tracking a...device that he's sending to her residence. Keep an eye on it. And more importantly, stay away”

 

“Will do”

 

“Good girl. Now go get your stuff from Theresa”. And as you hurried away, Nicola couldn't help but admire her little angel from afar. For she knew what was to happen next – and part of her was heavily conflicted.

 

“Oh, Maggie” she sighed, “What in the world are we going to do with you?”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Theresa marched to the gates as soon as she heard of your arrival. Her heart was racing and her muscles ached from her long and arduous days without you.

 

“Y/N!” she shrieked, running over to assist, “God, I missed you!”. She brought you in for a hug, which was really something you weren't expecting from her so soon.

 

“I've missed this place” you declared, your eyes wandering across the pretty structures.

 

“Come on, let's go inside for some tea”.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Together, you trudged through the halls and up the staircase, avoiding the elephant in the room like it was the plague until finally, Theresa arrived at the door to her apartment and let you in.

 

You sunk down into the comfy sofa as Theresa locked the door. You looked back at each other and giggled out of habit.

 

“So,” she began, “where have you been?”

 

“Scotland, with Nicola” you replied. Transparency seemed to be a strong point with you today.

 

“And what did she want?”

 

“Um..I don't really know”

 

“It's been a month, Y/N. And anyway, why didn't you come back sooner?”

 

“I don't know”. Theresa sneered.

 

“There's a lot you don't seem to know today, Y/N”

 

“Sorry...”

 

“You don't need to be”. Theresa collapsed down beside you, wrapping an arm around your waist. However, that adventurous hand had found its way into your pocket and pulled out a device which was now glowing green. Theresa's eyes widened at the prospect, and then at the reality and the inevitable consequences.

 

“Y/N...,” she muttered, frozen in place, “why do you own this?”

 

“Some weird suited guy dropped it yesterday in the park. I was only looking after it, I swear. What even is it?”

 

“It's MI5 software. It was stolen by some SS agents 3 weeks ago. But it's activated now...”

 

“What does that mean?” you inquired, the tension tightening your muscles, restricting your airways.

 

“It creates an alternate reality when activated. Which doesn't sound so bad as long as you forget that the person who activated it will die when it is switched off”. Theresa gulped.

 

“I am so sorry”. Suddenly, the bell rang. You rose to get it but Theresa scrambled in front, blocking you from entering the corridor.

 

“Theresa, please. I'm going to die. Just let me get the door”

 

“Do what I say when I tell you to **NOT** OPEN THAT _**BLOODY**_ DOOR”

 

“Why? Who is it?”. An uproar of thumping and screaming came from behind.

 

“SECRET SERVICE! OPEN UP, MAY!”

 

“Oh my God!” you panicked, desperately trying to barge past. But Theresa was adamant. She was a woman of her word. She was not going to let you pass. But you didn't care for what she thought.

 

“MARGARET, WAIT!” she bellowed as her hips swang around. You stood still in your tracks, not sure whether to ignore her obvious mistake or blow up in her face.

 

“Who's Margaret?”

 

“Sorry, Y/N. I was just- you reminded me of my dau-”. But the door came crashing down. Before you could react, an agent had thrown you out of their path and tackled Theresa to the floor. She was now clutching onto that device for dear life. You struggled to get back into the room to stop them, and it was nearly impossible. But Theresa subtlely threw the device back over to you. And now, it was your turn to run.

 

Like predator and prey, you bolted down the halls, the American bastards not far behind. You spiralled the staircase like water down a slide, clambering over bannisters and landing on your feet at the bottom before they could hit you with a bullet. But now someone else was catching up.

 

“MARGARET!” he screamed, “MARGARET, WAIT!”

“WHO THE **FUCK** IS MARGARET?!” you cried, “TIMOTHY, YOU _KNOW_ WHO I AM”. A flash of light struck the building, and now, everything had faded to a monochrome swatch of grey.

 

Timothy stood before you, shirt crumpled and stained by grass, mud and blood which trickled down his forehead. He cradled his fractured wrist in his elbow and looked up at you solemnly, his eyes prickling with tears.

 

“Maggie, everything is not as it seems...”

 

 

**00:59:59**

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Peter and his team sat silently in the corner of the room watching life slip by their tired eyes. Soon, they'd be responsible for not only the death of the Prime Minister but the murder of numerous innocent civilians. To Jeremy, they may have just been collateral damage, but to everyone else, they were precious human lives.

 

A few minutes later, his apprentice came running up to him with some desperate news. He'd uncovered the identity of his biological daughter. Peter snatched the documents from out of his hands as he eagerly ascended.

 

“Oh my goodness,” he uttered, “she was with Nicola all along”.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

**00:09:59**

 

You sped off of the bus as swiftly as humanly possible, phone clutched in one hand and the device in another. You were following the trail of the device that was supposedly going to kill the Prime Minister. And considering that you were going to die anyway and the device was in a car, you decided that you might as well stop it the only way you knew how: by falling onto the hood of the vehicle.

 

It was like breathing didn't matter anymore. Your legs didn't want it. Your hands didn't want it. Your brain was ostensibly refusing it! And soon, the world was spinning before your very eyes. Tears spilt down your cheeks, eventually blinding you from rational thinking. You stumbled. You tripped. You fell to your knees. But nothing was going to prevent you from jumping off of that bridge.

 

You pulled yourself up using the railings as you got to grips with your surroundings. Everything had fallen silent. Only the tremors of your heart could be heard. And you could feel its beats pleading through your veins. And they were pleading for mercy, pleading for hope, pleading for you to come to your senses and realise that this was not what you wanted. But this sacrifice wasn't a want; it was a need.

 

You propped your lifeless body up against the railings and watched a million cars pass by your very eyes as the wind began heaving against your weight. You watched as a thousand strands of hair blew across your face. One by one, each segment took turns at suffocating you. And from beneath your fingers, you could feel the sharp spikes of the barrier piercing into your palms, but all you could feel was the warmth of the gushing blood pouring from your skin.

 

Before you could muster the strength to go, Nicola wrapped her arms around your torso and pulled you back. Despondently, you collapsed into her arms in a fit of tears, hiding your face in the crevice of her neck. Endearingly, she ran her wizened hand through your hair, taming it against the odds.

 

Nicola swept you off of your feet and carried you to the other side of the bridge. Even though she let you hop down, she still pulled you tight against her body, begging you to never let go.

 

“You don't have to do this, you know” she began, facing the hotel.

 

“Look, Y/N, that's us”. Nicola pointed out the two figures snogging in the distance. You both giggled as you remembered what it felt like.

 

“Look at our potential”

 

“How is that happening?” you sniffed, intrigued by the supposed pause to time itself.

 

“Because your mind is allowing it to happen”. Nicola lightly chuckled at your bewilderment.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“I mean that this,” she declared, “has been all in your head!”. Your muscles failed as you practically folded into her grasp. Nonetheless, Nicola was always going to support you, and so that's what she did.

 

“And in a few minutes, a car bomb is going to detonate beneath this bridge and kill the both of us, putting an end to this cruel simulation once and for all”

 

“But I'm going to die indefinitely”

 

“No you're not” she smirked complacently.

 

“Yes, I am” you affirmed earnestly.

 

“I swapped the devices whilst you were asleep. I switched on the device when we were snogging. I'm a sly genius, Y/N. I'm not going to be outdone by some faulty MI5 bullshit”

 

“Then what _is_ going to happen to me?!”

 

“You'll wake up in real life, my dear”. And as she began to stare into your starry eyes, you started to believe it was true. A smile lined your countenance and a laugh escaped your lips. And for a moment it felt like you had done this before. And in that moment, all you needed was a name to break the curse.

 

“Maggie, I've missed you”. And for the first time in a month, you finally understood. And in your mind, you flipped over the letter grasped in Nicola's clammy palms to reveal the final half of their journey. It was the context they needed from the beginning. It was the other half of her swan song.

 

**And So I Say To You**

 

**Viva La Revolution**

 

**Let These Words Stick In Your Mind**

 

**And Let Them Stick To The Back Of Your Throat**

 

**But Don't Ignore The Whispers In The Light**

 

**For They Shall Follow You**

 

**And May You Find The Secrets In The Night**

 

**For They Will Be Found As The Spell Is Undone**

 

**And Light Shall Find Its Way Into Every Corner**

 

**Because, My Dear**

 

**Your Revelation Is Soon To Come**

 

And suddenly, it hit you like an oncoming bus. It was like the truth had been hidden in plain sight for oh so long but you hadn't yet the tools to reach it. And by tools, you meant the truth.

 

And as the bridge collapsed beneath your feet, your entwined figures cascaded like a pirouette of leaves to the ground. Shrapnel was flung into the atmosphere, shattering car windows alike and tearing through the lives of countless families and friends. But Nicola held you close through the ordeal, falling from grace with a smile on her face. And as the fabric of reality tore itself apart, you found yourself reciting the final half of her poem. For in that moment, those words had never meant more to you both. For they told a tale of a ship and its anchor, of a heart broken in two. And they told a tale of courage and tenacity, of the strength of a bond in time. But it came with a prophecy, that all the wounds will be healed as the clock struck twelve, but no one would ever be the same again...

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

**00:00:00**

 

 

 

 

 

**Today Is The Day When I Return To Your Arms**

 

 

 

Nicola choked as she awoke, bleeding on the upturned pavement. Though Maggie now lived with the truth, Nicola remained on the wrong side of reality, holding her corpse like it a teddy bear in her arms. She laid peacefully against her chest, not a scratch obtained, not a bone was broken. Unfortunately for Nicola, her scenario was not the same.

 

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” asked a familiar Welsh face as she came to sit beside her.

 

“L-Leanne?!” she cried, springing up from her grave, “Leanne, our babyg-”

 

“I know,” Leanne interjected, pushing a strand of Maggie's hair behind her ear as she joined the embrace, “she's at peace now”. Nicola wept.

 

“I want to be with her, Leanne. I promised...”

 

“We promised,” she affirmed, holding their hands together almost as if they were remembering a childhood pact, “and so I brought this”. Leanne pulled out Ruth's gun from her pocket, loaded with a bullet. Nicola raised an eyebrow but then proceeded to laugh.

 

“Not only will it send you back to the real world, but I will also give me satisfaction of murdering you”

 

“Am I really that annoying?” pressed Nicola as Leanne presided over her.

 

“I know of your infidelity, sweetheart. And even though I found it hot – I mean, don't get me wrong, that hotel sex was _extremely_ arousing – it was wrong on so many levels”

 

“If you came back to reality, would you be okay with...you know...Maggie and I?”

 

“Only if I could join in”. Nicola bit her lip excitedly as Leanne readied the gun.

 

“I only have one bullet, though. So you better not forget me whilst I find another”

 

“I won't sweetheart. I couldn't”

 

“Good”. And as the bullet left the barrel of the gun, Nicola closed her eyes and dreamt of the wonders in store for them all. And as it pierced through her skull, a tear ran down her cheek. It was a tear of sadness, but also a tear of joy. But more importantly, it was a tear to mark the possibilities of what was the come. And as the life faded from her eyes, Nicola awoke on her living room floor. And everything was perfect once more.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Peter raced to the scene of the crime, documents in hand. But it was clear to see that the simulation had begun to crumble. The palpable pulsing of terror pumping through his being was to finally stop, however, when from out of the dust strode a woman forged in the flames of time.

 

Her darkened hair had been mercilessly straightened to resemble a collection of daggers whilst her makeup was so sharp you could cut yourself just looking at it. Her forest green attire wrapped her physique like bandages around an Egyptian Pharoah and her boots exerted an authoritative clap. In her hand, Leanne held a wallet belonging to his daughter. And with a gaze as surprisingly warm as a freshly lit candle, she placed it in his grasp.

 

His stomach dropped as he saw that old picture of him stashed inside the transparent pocket. He prised it out to find his name scribbled on the back of it, alongside words and questions scribbled in pencil. And she'd found him. Her notes said so. But she was scared to ask. So she knew. She knew all along it was him and he'd never given her the chance. And she'd regretted what she'd done with his wife.

 


End file.
